


Hold Your Head Up (Three Christmastimes)

by mosslover



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Christmastime, Illness, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosslover/pseuds/mosslover
Summary: Mitchell loves Christmas. But it's not all cheer in the Johnson-Mitchell house this year.





	Hold Your Head Up (Three Christmastimes)

A hand extended from behind the Christmas monstrosity in Anders’ living room, fingers wagging impatiently.

“Anders, could you hand me more tinsel, please?”

“More??” Anders took a sip from his glass, then rummaged in the pile of already emptied bags on the table. A stray strip of glossy foil landed in his drink and he fished it out, flicking the pesky decoration away. “Why did we even get a damn tree if you seem hell bent on covering it up with every type of ornament ever produced? I can’t even see the fucking thing.”

Mitchell’s head poked out from behind a branch and he pushed away a dangling four-leaf clover that obscured his view. He frowned. “Should you be drinking that?”

Anders gave him a glare. “Might as well…” he grumbled. When he detected Mitchell’s growing disapproval, he snickered. “Oh, calm down, Mary Poppins. I’m just having one glass.”

Mitchell considered him with mistrust. “That’s what you said an hour ago.  And yes, more tinsel. Gotta cover the tree evenly everywhere.”

“No one will ever see the back of it,” Anders pointed out before tossing back the rest of his drink. “Especially since they will be blinded as soon as they lay eyes on all this glitter and kitsch.”

But despite his verbal protests, he fished out two more unopened tinsel packets and tore them open, wading past an explosion of boxes and shopping bags that made the room appear as if hurricane Christmas had come raging in and left mounds of debris for them to clean up. He piled the tinsel onto Mitchell’s waiting palm, bits of it spilling over and landing on the carpet.

“Thanks, babe,” Mitchell quipped with a grin. “I’ll be done in a blaze.”

Anders, who had bent down to pick up at least a few of the scattered pieces of trash in hopes that he might lay eyes on his carpet again, didn’t reply. He stood up and took a quick step back, cursing when a sudden bout of lightheadedness hit him.

Mitchell looked back at him, the Irish-themed ornament bumping him on the nose in the process.

“You okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” Anders barked, striding back towards the kitchen with handfuls of trash, doing his best to mask the dizzy spell. But from Mitchell’s tone he could guess that his boyfriend had witnessed the moment Anders had swayed on his feet, so he added: “Just straightened up too fast.”

Mitchell made a displeased noise, then disappeared again. “Food’s almost ready.”

Anders replied in a colorless voice. “I’m not hungry.”

He went on picking up trash and boxes, the apartment surfaces slowly reappearing from the attack of Mitchell’s festive enthusiasm. Mitchell himself remained curiously quiet, either getting progressively more entangled or biting his lip to stop from expressing more concern. Neither of them wanted the tension – or a fight - that usually followed this line of conversation. Anders thought longingly back to the previous year’s Christmas, when Mitchell’s tendency to overdo the holidays was the only thing they had to argue about.

It was only when the oven dinged, signaling that the lasagna inside was fit for consumption, did Mitchell emerge from behind the now completely camouflaged tree.

“Ta-da,” he said. “Nice, isn’t it?”

Anders snorted, but something in Mitchell’s expression made him swallow the snarky retort and instead he stepped over to his beaming boyfriend, tucking a thumb in the belt of his pants. “Great job, vamp.” He pulled Mitchell closer, nosing next to his ear as dark brown curls tickled his cheek. “Can I unwrap my favorite present early this year?”

“What present?” Mitchell teased, knowing full well what Anders was referring to. “I haven’t got you any.”

“Oh yes you did. It’s currently wearing tight jeans and too many shirts,” Anders hinted. “And it has tinsel stuck in his hair.”

Mitchell felt all over his unkempt curls, tugging the offender off and tossing it in the tree’s general area. “I’m going to have tinsel in other places too if you unwrap me here.”

“I can deal with that.” Anders eyed his boyfriend, pulling his hips a tad closer. “I must say that it sounds like a much better use of it than anything else.”

“If you say so,” Mitchell grinned. The oven dinged again, a reminder of mundane things like food. Mitchell kissed Anders on the corner of his lips and then strode past him. ”After we eat, yeah? I’m starving.”

 

Anders picked at his food, taking a nibble here and there but not much of substance had made it to his stomach. Which was just as well: his belly felt heavy and unsettled, too prone to upchucking whatever contents he’d tried convincing it to digest lately. The vodka from earlier probably hadn’t helped, but it took the edge of the rest of it, so he still indulged himself against the doctor’s orders and Mitchell’s wishes.

He pushed his plate away, trying his best to ignore the look of concern on Mitchell’s face. “I ate some of it,” he said, and it came out more defensive than he’d meant it to. “And I had a decent lunch at work.”

“Oh.” Mitchell nodded slowly. “What’d you have?”

“Some chicken sandwich Dawn brought.”

“Did you hear from the clinic yet about your results?”

Anders looked towards the counter where his vodka stood, the bottle half empty. “No, not yet.”

“Hm.” Mitchell lay his fork down. “I though they said this week.”

“Maybe they’ve closed early for Christmas,” Anders shrugged. “Want a drink?”

Mitchell followed Anders’ gaze to the bottle, then shook his head.

“Oh come on, a second one can’t hurt,” Anders said.

Mitchell’s eyes hardened. “You shouldn’t.”

“Fine.” Anders went up to the counter, hating how much he sounded like a petulant three-year-old. He fiddled with the line of prescription bottles next to the potted poinsettia plant, snorting at the way their labels recommended he take their contents with food. That would be great advice, if they didn’t take away his appetite completely.

He poured a glass of water and tipped it back, washing down a handful of pills. Now his stomach felt even worse and all he wanted to do was lay down, despite the earlier flirting about Christmas tree sex.

“Wanna go stretch on the bed and watch a movie?” Mitchell said.

Torn between grateful and annoyed that he was that easy for Mitchell to read, he nodded wordlessly.  They’d gotten a small TV for their bedroom since Anders’ energy levels had dropped and he usually dozed off halfway through whatever they were watching.

He toed off his shoes, leaving them on the kitchen floor, and then padded to the small bedroom and stripped from his clothes until he was only in his undershirt and briefs. He shivered, then convinced himself to exert enough energy to pull on the pajama pants Mitchell had gotten him. They were plaid. But comfy. Comfy was good.

Mitchell came in after him, a Christmas movie in his hand of all things.

“Seen this one?” he said.

“No.” Anders got under the covers, tilting his pillow so he could recline. “What kind of sentimental Christmas horror is it?”

“A classic,” Mitchell promised. “You’ll like it.”

Anders eyed Mitchell’s behind in the tight jeans as his boyfriend bent over to fidget with the dvd player. “I’m still going to have you naked under that tree later tonight.” He knew that it was likely an empty promise but he didn’t want to let the idea of it go yet.

Mitchell pushed play and climbed onto the bed, stopping on all fours above Anders’ torso. He kissed him. “Hmm. It’s a Christmas tree, it does need christened.”

Anders laughed and Mitchell settled next to him, head on Anders’ shoulder. The pressure of it there was reassuring and as the opening credits started, orchestra music bursting into play, he closed his eyes briefly, wondering when was a good time to ruin what remained of Mitchell’s Christmas spirit.

 

 

It took thirty minutes for Anders to fall asleep. Mitchell checked every few minutes: at first Anders was alert, his eyes bright with the reflection of the screen. Then his lids progressively crept down until they fell shut and finally Anders’ head rested back as he slept, mouth parted and soft breaths escaping from between his lips. When Mitchell pressed a kiss to his forehead and pulled the covers higher up over his chest, Anders didn’t stir.

Mitchell couldn’t stop looking at his lover. It wasn’t fair, he thought. First Josie, now Anders-

His boyfriend looked tired today, depressed. At first Mitchell didn’t think much of it, but now he was starting to get suspicious. Anders had a penchant for concealing things from him and Mitchell was having none of it. Not when so much was at stake.

Luckily, he had an ally who might help him get to the bottom of the matter. He slid off the bed, the movie continuing to flash black and white images into the room and over the dark covers of the bed. He stepped out into the living room and grabbed his phone.

Dawn picked up on third ring. “Hey, Mitchell,” she said over the sounds of Mariah Carey asserting what she wanted for Christmas. “Sorry, let me turn this down, I’m in the car – How’re you? Is Anders okay?”

“Yeah, he’s alright, mostly. Why?” Mitchell frowned.

“Well, he didn’t come back to the office after the doctor’s visit today. I brought him lunch but he barely touched it and then his phone rang and apparently the docs wanted to see him right away.”

Mitchell’s heart sank. That did not bode well. “What? Oh. And – and he didn’t tell you why?”

“No,” Dawn replied, sounding worried. “He said he’d be back in an hour but he never showed up again and didn’t pick up my calls.”

Mitchell chewed on his lip. “Bloody hell.”

“Wait, he didn’t tell you about it?”

Now filled with a sense of dread, Mitchell shook his head. “No. He didn’t.”

“Shit, Mitchell, I’m sorry.” Dawn sounded as bad as Mitchell felt. “I hope it’s not…”

“Yeah, me too.” He cast a glance towards the bedroom door. “Listen, I got to go.”

“Alright. Call me later?”

“Yeah, I will.” He ended the call and stood there for a moment, staring at the stupid tree. An overwhelming need to tear it down came over him but he pushed it back, years of practice making it easier.

Instead, he walked over to where Anders’ expensive vodka stood and took an unceremonious swig straight from the bottle. The burning sensation felt like vindication enough for now and he steeled his shoulders, going back to the bedroom.

Anders opened his eyes when Mitchell lay down next to him again. “Who were you talking to?” he said.

“Dawn,” Mitchell said.

Anders nodded.

“You had a call from the doctor,” Mitchell stated.

Anders nodded once more, slowly this time. “Yes.”

“You went to see him?”

“They said I should come straight away.” Anders took a deep breath. “I didn’t have time to call you.”

“Bullshit, Anders. I told you-“

“Fine,” Anders snapped. “I wanted to go alone. I didn’t want it to ruin your Christmas in case the results were bad.”

“Fuck my Christmas. Jesus, Anders, I told you I’d go with you.” Mitchell shook his head, looked back at Anders. “So, were they? Bad?”

The blond man stayed mute, but then he met Mitchell’s eyes for a second and shrugged. “Apparently it spread.”

“What?” Mitchell desperately wanted to hear anything else, but it was not to be.

No Christmas miracle here.

“Where?” he asked.

“Kidney, for now,” said Anders. “Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

Mitchell closed his eyes and both stayed silent for a few heartbeats.

“I’m fucked, Mitchell,” said Anders. “You should cut your losses and get out of here.”

A powerful current of protest swelled inside Mitchell and he growled: “No.”

Anders turned and studied him for a moment. “Then you have to promise me that you’ll do the same thing for me that you did for her.”

“What?” Mitchell stared, blindsided. “What do you mean?”

“What you did for Josie.”

“Who told you?”

“I spoke to Annie when you were on your shopping spree.”

“Jesus.” Mitchell felt a shake start inside his chest. He could barely keep his voice steady. “I can’t do that, Anders.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“Well, something else is trying really hard, so why not make it easier?”

“She was terminal. Josie was… there was no hope. But you…”

“In a few months I might be terminal too.”

The angry current swelled higher, filling Mitchell’s throat with a big lump that wouldn’t subside. “You are not going to die. Not from this.”

Anders bit his lip, looking away. “It’s nice that one of us is convinced.”

“I can be convinced enough for both of us,” Mitchell insisted. "You're going to beat this." 

“Everyone thinks that,” Anders scoffed. "Until they end up losing anyway. So you see, I might as well have another fucking vodka if my kidney’s going to shit already, right?”

“Shut up,” Anders,” Mitchell said. He lowered his head. “Don’t… Just don’t.”

They fell quiet, movie dialogue unfolding between them without either of them noticing.

Anders sighed. “Come on, I need to at least make bad jokes about it.” It sounded like a peace offering.

“Yeah, I know,” Mitchell replied, then smiled ruefully. “But you could at least try and make good ones...”

Anders uttered a “hey” in protest and Mitchell slumped down, stretching next to Anders again. He wrapped an arm around the other man’s body, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Neither said anything for a while. Mitchell thought, after some time, that Anders might be dozing off once more. Then Anders’ quiet voice piped up again.

“So you’re not going to leave?”

Mitchell’s arm tightened around his chest.

“I’m not leaving.”

Anders nodded. “Thank you.”

And with that, he turned into Mitchell’s chest and started to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry about the lack of cheer in this part...


End file.
